


Just...Listen

by Nikki66



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bondage, Enemies to Friends, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Non-Consensual Bondage, Past Rape/Non-con, Rivalry, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 23:16:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6214117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikki66/pseuds/Nikki66
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders has had enough of Fenris' constant insults, belittling and mage-hating. He takes matters into his own hands, as a matter of justice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just...Listen

**Author's Note:**

> My husband can't stand Anders. I adore him. As I tried to explain why I have such empathy for the mage, this little fic was born. An hour or so of writing, and I present it to you. (No elves were harmed in the creation of this story). This contains some of my own head canon for past history, and suppression bracelets--don't get wigged-out. I gave it a good once-over for editing, but feel free to let me know if I missed something glaring.

He let himself into the mansion, quietly closing the door behind him. His steps were silent, the product of so many years on the run; from the Circle, from Darkspawn, from Templars. You learn to move quietly when getting caught means torture or death.

He knew his way, and was rapidly up the stairs, down the hall and standing outside the door. He had a brief moment of doubt, but the voice in his head assured him it was justice, it was retribution.

The door slid silently open, and as the figure on the bed began to rise, arm reaching for the blade beside him, a spell flashed in the darkness, and movement ceased.

Anders stepped through the door, closing it with a resounding click. “Fenris.” he breathed.

The elf lay on the bed, in stasis, awake, alert, but unable to move. His lyrium flared brightly, but to no effect. His eyes followed the mage’s approach. 

Anders set down the pack he carried on his back, leaned his staff against the wall.

“This is long overdue,” he said quietly. “How long have I known you? Seven, eight years?” He pulled a pair of delicate bracelets out of his pack. He leaned over the frozen elf, clicked them around each wrist. “Just a precaution. You’ve threatened to take out my heart several times, after all.”

The lyrium’s glow faltered, and extinguished. The dark green orbs widened, feeling the power drain from him. 

“It’s not permanent, don’t worry.” The mage reached into the pack again, pulling out cuffed restraints. “Neither is that stasis spell, so I’d better take care of this.”

Tying the restraints to the bedposts, Anders lifted Fenris’ unresisting arms and attached the cuffs to his wrists. He did the same for his ankles, resulting in the elf being secured on his back, spread eagle. Anders picked up the greatsword and moved it to the far wall, “Just in case,” he murmured.

Fenris’ fingers were beginning to twitch, the spell wearing off. Anders then took a ball gag from his pack. Using two fingers to push down on the elf’s chin, he opened Fenris’ mouth, and positioned the gag. He secured it snugly, giving the elf a small pat on the cheek when he was through.

He stood back to watch as the spell wore off.

Fenris began to twitch against the bindings as he regained movement. His throat worked, grunts and growls muffled against the leather ball. His struggles became more forceful as he gained more use of his muscles. He writhed, jerking his limbs, bowing up off the bed, voice gaining volume, if no words.

Anders waited. He knew his bindings were secure. After long moments, the elf fell back against the mattress, sweating, breathing hard through his nose. His eyes glared at Anders impotently.

“Good,” the mage said quietly. “Allow me to explain myself.” He sat on the edge of the bed, one hand lighting upon the duvet over the elf’s leg. Fenris twitched at the touch, and Anders shook his head, a wan smile on his lips.

“I’ve endured more than enough from you, Fenris. For years, and years, I’ve suffered under your recriminating insults. You’ve done your utmost to humiliate and defame me. Thousands of times, I’ve heard you call me ‘abomination’; tell me that I and all mages should be locked up, made Tranquil, killed; you denigrate my efforts to help those mages in desperate danger. Every word spoken to me drips of poison, aims to hurt and malign.

“You come into my clinic with Hawke, and you sneer at me. Cast aspersions on the filth of Darktown, the smell, the work I do for no pay. How can you? Do you not see the suffering there? Can you not see that those people have nothing to pay? Can you not see that I have been their only succor, their only chance for healing? Why would you insult that?

“What have I ever done to you, Fenris? Have I ever spoken so to you? Have I ever sought to harm you? Have I not healed and protected you in battle, time and time again? Do I not give you the same respect I give to all of Hawke’s companions?”

Fenris was still, eyes burning into the mage’s, as though to shoot blades at him through sheer will, alone. Anders gestured at the bindings and gag the elf wore.

“Do you know how I came to have these? No, I’m not a degenerate, an abomination who tortures children and pets. I was the one tortured. Templars, you see, tend to have particular desires. The ones I’ve had the misfortune to meet, anyway. 

“I first time I heard the name of Ser Alrik was while trussed in these very bindings. Two templars found me in my clinic one night. I was exhausted from healing all day. Even Justice was unable to combat them, and once the suppression bracelets were on, he was subdued along with my magic. 

“They spent their own sweet time, Fenris. Do you remember the day you heckled me for having a hoarse throat? You said I must have been blathering on about mage rights, and finally lost my voice. ‘Thank goodness for small wonders’, you said. I lost my voice from screaming the night before, bound in these cuffs, the gag muffling the sound. There had been no small wonders, Fenris.”

The elf’s eyes widened, a loud exhale left his lungs. Anders watched him, then went on.

“I did manage to remember the name they spoke to one another. I begged Hawke to help me find Ser Alrik, that day. She brought you, for some Maker-forsaken reason, you came along. I should have waited. I should have gotten some sleep first, healed myself better. Justice and I... were not ready. I almost killed that girl. In my own pain and anguish from my treatment the night before, I lost control.

“You can’t know how that felt. Can’t know the fear it filled me with. Even if you had, would you have cared? Silly question, I know. Of course you wouldn’t care. If you’d walked in on the templars as they were raping me, you still wouldn’t have cared. You know why they did it? Because I’m a mage. That’s all. It’s easier because I’m an apostate, but that doesn’t stop it from happening in the Circle. Had I done anything to warrant such treatment? You would say so.”

Fenris’ head shook slightly. No. Anders closed his eyes briefly. 

“I dare to live outside the Circle. And, what is it I do outside the Circle? I heal, Fenris. I heal and I help those in need. That’s all. If I were inside the Circle, or Tranquil, or dead... do you suppose those templars would take my place and help the poor and sick? IF they could find no convenient apostate to vent their twisted needs upon, don’t you imagine they’d turn to a mage who is lawfully under the protection of the Circle? Who’s the real abomination, between those templars and me?

“Do you know why I still have these bindings? Because those blighted Templars left them with me. So they’d be handy when they returned. Because, if I was a good little mage, and let them play their terrible games, they wouldn’t turn me in to the Circle. They were going to come back, Fenris. Over and over. They didn’t, of course. You put your blade through one the next day. I shattered the other. 

“The day after that battle, you chided me, mocked me. ‘I can control it. Wasn’t that what you said?’ You have no idea. At that very moment, my ass was still on fire, still seeping blood in spite of the healing I’d done. And, you dared...?? Yes, I controlled it. In spite of the pain those words caused me, I had no desire to hurt you. I’ve never wanted to hurt you. I suspected that you had probably known the kind of pain I was in. That you’d had to kneel, walk and fight for your master when your own ass was on fire and seeping blood. We’ve both bled at the hands of those who’ve oppressed us. Call us blood brothers, if you will. Not that you would. 

“I could return to the Grey Wardens, I suppose. Risk death at their hands because I bonded with Justice. I was nearly killed once, because of that. Even if they took me back, Fenris, you have no idea what it’s like. The darkness, the voices, the never-ending death, despair and monsters. I can fight, we both know that. But, I’m not a fighter. I’m a healer. Spending every blasted day fighting... no happiness, no light... I was suffocating. 

“So, I ran. Like I ran from the Circle over, and over, and over. I know you can’t understand this, but I was free, Fenris, until I was 12-years-old. I grew up on the edge of the Anderfels, in rugged, beautiful country. I ran free over the hills, chased cattle, hunted, fished. I was a few years away from courting-age. In a just a few years’ time, I’d have loved a few girls, found one compatible, and settled down. I’d have raised a family, lived in the same village with my parents and friends and been happy. 

“Then, my magic presented. My parents turned from me in fear, Templars came and dragged me away. They didn’t even remember my name. Most mages manifest their magic much younger. The Circle’s no better for them, but at such a young age, they become... institutionalized... more easily. I went from the freedom and joy of childhood to a prison. Of course I ran. I’m still running. Just like you are. And, I’ve fought and bled to keep my freedom... just like you have. Brothers in arms, you could say. Not that you will.

“I know you despise that I joined with Justice. I don’t blame you. I thought I was helping. Do I regret it? It’s hard to say. Sometimes, I want so much to take it back, to make it never have happened. Other times, having Justice within me spurs me to such acts of kindness, such bravery on behalf of those less fortunate.... I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, either way. It’s done, and it can’t be undone. And, beating me over the head with it doesn’t make it less painful, or more terrible. It simply IS, Fenris, and, I can’t change it, and will not kill myself or be made Tranquil to change it... any more than you would have to escape slavery."

Anders paused. He twitched the tether binding on one ankle.

“I’ve no doubt that you’re sure I’ve trussed you up like this to enact some vengeful atrocity upon you, Fenris. Maybe show you the pain those templars gave me....”

The elf’s eyes widened impossibly huge.

Anders sighed. “See? Even now.... “ 

Fenris shook his head, protests sounding behind the gag.

“Look, all I wanted was for you to listen to me, for once. To just hear me out. And, maybe... maybe ease-up on the harassment, a little. Just... cut me some slack.”

He stood, pulled a small key out of his pack and tossed it on the bed. He then put his staff on his back, shouldered his pack and walked to the door. He turned and waved a spell at the bindings. One tether flamed and burned through, releasing Fenris’ wrist.

“The suppression bracelet key’s next to you. Keep the party favors. I sure as hell don’t want the damn things.” He opened the door, and left.

\-----------------------------------------------------

The next evening, Anders sat at the table in Varric’s suite at the Hanged Man. He nursed a mug of cider, wishing it was ale. Varric and Isabela placed bets outside the door, as she flung blades at some target down the hallway.

He was staring into the depths of his mug when a body moved into the chair beside him. 

Fenris' voice was low. “I’m never going to see mages the way you want me to.”

“I expected as much,” he replied, carefully.

“I’ll never accept that you joined with that demon.”

“Expected that, too.”

“But, you know.... “ he paused thoughtfully. “Brothers often don’t agree.”

 

fin.


End file.
